With Cruel Intent
by TheRestIsRustAndStardust
Summary: Somebody knows Dexter Douglas's secret. Somebody with a lot of cruel intentions and a plan to rid the world of Freakazoid once and for all...My first Freakazoid fanfic. Please review and/or leave constructive tips. Thank you! -
1. Chapter 1

_**[A/N: Hurray! For the first time in MONTHS, I finally have something o post! This is my first-ever Freakazoid fanfic. I'm a huge fan of the show (especially Dexter) and I wanted to show my love. This is definitely grimmer than the canon, but I hope you like. Enjoy!-Kaylee.]**_

It was a bad day to be Dexter Douglas.

The brown-haired computer geek walked home in silence. Up above, marble gray and black clouds hovered, threatening rain. _Great, _he thought grimly, his small body surpressing a shiver, _one _more _thing that can go wrong today..._

Poor Dexter's day had been miserable from the beginning; he had, while he was sleeping, hit snooze on his alarm clock several times and as a result was an hour late getting up and going to school. His homeroom teacher had given him detention for his tardiness. After being singled out like that, everyone, even those who generally left him alone, snickered coldly behind his back. The jock who sat behind him snorted, "Whattsa matter, _Poin_Dexter? Nerd up too late on his computer again and forget to set his alarm clock?"

Dexter glowered and quipped, "Your grammar's awful. You know that, right?"

Before the jock could think of a comeback, their teacher snapped from the front, "MISTER Douglas!", "you already have one detention today. I don't advise trying for two!"

Dexter blushed bright red. His classmates mocked him once more, and the jock made sure to give him a hard pinch when the teacher's back was turned.

And it only got worse from there.

At lunch, he had been tripped by the same bully from homeroom and had fallen headfirst onto the floor, scalding hot, cardboard-flavored cafeteria "food" landing on him. He shuddered as it burned his skin and shuddered even harder when kicked from behind as he tried to stand up.

In gym class, he had to run a mile on the track. Even then, the heavens threatened to pelt the students with bone-chilling rain. In between the coach yelling at him to "get yer scrawny butt in gear, Douglas!", he was tripped no less than seven times.

Now, several more emotionally-scarring instances later, here he was, on his way home an hour late, sure to be lectured for his tardiness, hood over his head to mask his humiliation. Sadly, this was simply a more extreme variation of every day for Dexter. Inside his mind, he felt a familiar prescence pushing at him, begging to be let out. _"Aw, come on, Dex! Do it, say "Freak out", let me deal with these creeps, huh, please? Please?"_

Dexter simply shook his head, responding in a firm mental refusal. As much fun as it would be to let Freakazoid blow through the school like a tornado and make all of his bullying classmates and teachers pay, he knew he couldn't jeapordize his secret identity like that. While he could exact a little revenge on his brother, whose IQ was equivalent to wet cardboard, he didn't know everyone at school. Who knows? Some of them might have been smarter than his family and catch on. And if that happened, God only knowswhat kind of weirdos would try to find him and his family! As usual, he would have to bear this burden and hope it would get better. As if.

Perhaps as an omen of events yet to come, the skies burst forth about a block away from Dexter's house, spilling down fat drops of icy water. "Really? _Really?_" Dexter growled under his breath and ducked into an alleyway, hoping to be caught in the lee of one of the two buildings and thus avoid being soaked any further. Without warning, as if the sun had eclipsed (which wasn't due to happen anytime soon) the alley was shrouded in total shadow. Dexter could no longer see anything at all.

"Hello, Dexter." A deep, black-cherry voice snaked its way into the nerdy boy's ear through the darkness.

"Wh-who's there? Who are you?" Dexter's voice quavered as he took a defensive position with both fists clenched. A grim chuckle came from the owner of the words. "Duncan, if this is a prank, it isn't funny!"

"I'm afraid not, dear boy." The voice was closer now, almost in his ear.

Scared out of his wits, he began to do the thing he thought was best. "I'm freaking-!"

The words were stifled by a strong hand holding an oddly-perfumed cloth over his nose and mouth. "I'm afraid not, Dexter Douglas.", the stranger purred, "or should I say, I'm afraid not, _Freakazoid_."

Dexter's struggling became weaker and his eyelids grew heavier as the effects of the Clorophorm began to take hold. _Oh God. Somebody knows. _It hit his dimmed thoughts. _Somebody knows._

The last thing he was aware of before he lost consciousness was the fact that he was being lifted up by a pair of strong and surprisingly gentle arms and set down in the back of a vehicle.

It was **definitely **a bad day to be Dexter Douglas.


	2. Chapter 2

_Oh God...My head..._Awareness crept its way into Dexter's throbbing cranium. _Where am I? _His eyes slowly fluttered open, which made his poor head hurt even more. Everything was wobbly at first but gradually he began to realize he was in some sort of makeshift laboratory from an old kitchen. Abandoned up until very recently, from the looks of it.

A mildewey sink sat in the middle of a chipped and dust-covered formica tabletop. The floor was dingy and cracked as well, save for several places where a refrigerator and cabinets had obviously been. A flourescent yellow light hummed right above his head., filled with spots that marked the graves of God-knows-how-many dead flies. In contrast, stainless steel storage units and racks covered almost every available surface. Shined glass beakers an test tubes sat in wire racks, waiting to be used. A computer sat plugged into a free counter above an old dishwasher with something typed visible on the screen, however too far away for him to read. Alien-like mechanical devices, the likes of which he had never before seen, were scattered haphazardly along the old counters. A shiver crept up Dexter's spine.

Waking up more and more, bits and pieces of memory and realization came to him. His mouth felt dry and cottony. When he tried to speak, he discovered that he couldn't; his mouth was taped shut, and that cottony feeling was a cloth shoved into his mouth. He couldn't move, either. His arms and legs were tied securely behind his back. He had been laid down in an old Lazyboy recliner with a pillow placed carefully under his head. _Gee,_ Dex thought ruefully, _at least the person who knows my secret, kidnapped me and plans on doing something heinous to me cares about my comfort._ He squirmed against his bonds in an attempt to loosen them, which only dug them painfully deeper into his skin. _Who **did **this, anyway? It didn't sound like anyone Freak's fought before._

Somewhere a few rooms behind Dexter, a door clicked open, squeaked laborously and closed again. _No...No, no, no! _His body pumped with adrenaline and his fight or flight reflex kicked into overdrive as he squirmed and fought bitterly against the ropes that held him. He managed to fall to the floor and wiggle a foot and a half when a dark shadow loomed overhead. Dex shook in wide-eyed fear at what he saw.

At first, he wasn't quite sure if the leering figure before him was even **human.** Who-or _what_-ever it was-wore a thick, wine colored, floor length hooded cloak about three sizes too big for them, as the many bunches and ripples in the fabric attested to. The extra material masked any features that could be deemed as belonging to a man or a woman. The person wore long gloves over their hands, and their face...dear Lord, their face...

It was an awful thing to behold; the face donned what looked like the work of a demented actor or sadistic suregon. Instead of showing his or her _real_ face, the person wore theatre masks-the blank white, expressive Comedy and Tragedy, split into half and sewn together in the middle. It was as if a fat monk and Erik the Phantom had come together to design eveningwear and THIS was the unfortunate model.

Repulsed, Dexter backed up until he hit the chair, pressing himself into the fabric and willing himself to disappear. The being spoke, revealing themselves to be, unfortunately, the person in the dark from earlier. "Now, now, Dexter, I'm afraid we'll have none of that." The person lifted him off the ground and very carefully sat him down in the chair, almost as if he were a doll. "You'll be let go soon enough."

Dex had a bad feeling about the way they said that. "In the meantime, I hope I've made you comfortable. I also apologize for the gag. I couldn't have you "freaking out" on me, now could I?"

Dex gave the humanoid an indignant glare. He was certain that the face behind the mask was smirking. "I will allow you to speak, IF you promise me you won't turn into your obnoxious alter-ego. If you break that promise, I'm fully prepared to use the clorophorm again. Do we have a deal."

He thought it over for a moment; even if he couldn't turn into Freakazoid, even if he was trapped by some unknown force and unable to comprehend why, he could at least ask a few questions and get to the bottom of his plight. Dex nodded. Carefully, his gag was untied and the cloth removed from his parched mouth. "Thank you," he breathed a sigh of relief, "Now who are you? And where am I? What am I doing here? _**What is going on?**_"

The masked madman hummed amusedly."You're in my lair. I'm afraid that since all of my budget went towards my inventions, the best I could come up with is an abandoned tenament on the outskirts of town. On the bright side, the added secrecy makes this much easier. As for what is going on here and your involvement...I feel it best to keep that information for later."

"Will you at least tell me who you are and why you're wearing that ugly mask? How can you even see out of that thing?"

"Simple; I've modified the eyeholes with a form of magnifying glass that allows me to see better under its protection. The mouth has a special microphone which changes my voice so that you may not know my real identity. And, as for who I am...? You will never know that answer in full, however, no creature on God's earth should be without a name. You may call me...Clandestine."

Dexter glared with a mixture of petulence and curiosity. "Clandestine? Doesn't that mean-?"

"Indeed, it does." Clandestine cut him off. "A secret. Something conducted under extreme concealment or secrecy." He or she chuckled. "It fits rather well, don't you think?"

Dex growled. "You're completely insane! Let me go, right now!" He wriggled again. "Help, help!"

Clandestine shoved the cloth unceremoniously back in his mouth and redid the gag. "That will be _enough _out of _you_!"

The vile villain reached his or her hand over to Dex's cheek. The boy cringed, expecting to be slapped, but instead, Clandestine simply stroked his cheek thoughtfully. "It's going to be a long night, child. You might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.

_**[A/N: Yay! A longer chapter! I personally think that in all my years of writing, Clandestine is one of my best villains, especially given the twist in the plot. (Shhh! Don't spoil it!~) Anyways, please read and review, and give me critiscism if you feel that I need it. I would also like to thank VanillaSpiders/LevimHoshi for her support of my first Freakafic. You're awesome and thank you for helping me with this! ^-^ Also, I opened this topic's first-ever forum! The Freakazone! Visit it if you feel like. I'm looking for a few admins, so sign up if you want. Enjoy!-Kaylee]**_


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as Clandestine's back was turned, Dex could feel Freakazoid mentally slamming into the walls of the Freakazone in protest, rather like an indignant child having a temper-tantrum. _C'mon, Dex! Lemme at 'em, lemme at 'em! I'll rock 'em and I'll sock 'em! __**Nobody **__abducts my human and gets away with it, nobody!_

_I can't,_ Dexter thought back. _I'm bound and gagged with a cloth stuffed in my mouth. I can't say Freak In. Believe me, if I could, I woulda been out of here hours ago._

Freak grunted indignantly. _Why haven't you found a way out yet? You're supposed to be a genius! _His tone had gone from indignant to pleading to accusing, all in one magnificent stroke.

_Hey, I've only been conscious here for twenty mintutes! _His inner voice was quite defensive. _Besides, tall, dark and creepy's right over there. He already said he'd drug me again if he had to._

_Why are you so sure Clanny's a boy?_, Freak chirpped, completely ignoring what Dexter had just said.

Dexter, if able to, would have sighed exasperatedly. _What does that have to do with anything?_

_Just answer the question, Dexxy._

_I-I dunno. Because! I __don't think girls do stuff like this._

_You're wrong, Dex; believe me, underneath the creepy mask and hood is a pretty girl...with deep, deep psychological issues._

_Sure..., _Dexter snorted. _Now back to what's going on, I need to find a way to get out of here and "Freak Out" so this lunatic doesn't kill us, or do something worse. I can't for the life of me figure out what he-_

_She..._

_-Whatever! I can't figure out for the life of me what Clandestine wants from us. He-_

_**She-**_

_Would you cut that out? _Dex tried to hold back his anger at his alter-ego and his inability to see the severity of the situation. _They obviously know a lot about science, or else they wouldn't have all this lab equipment here. They aren't going to kill us. At least, I don't think so. Clan also said it would be a long night. So we're obviously going to be here awhile. The longer this takes, the more time we have to come up with a way to break these ropes and run. Sound like a good idea?_

The blue superteen pondered the plan. _Sounds great! I'll start thinking __**right**__ now! _Freakazoid rubbed his chin in deep puzzlement. _Hm...What's the number for the A-Team again?_

Dexter's face fell. _Looks like I'm in for a long night._

Clandestine made it a point to look over his or her shoulder at Dexter at least once every ten minutes, and every time he was there, staring with curiosity, fear and caution at Clandestine, who was tinkering with something hidden from the mousey boy's view. Every so often, they would amble over and ask him if he needed anything, seemingly oblivious of the fact that he was gagged. Every time, Dexter would simply shake his head solemnly and avoid his abductor's eyeless gaze.

This all went on until about ten o'clock at night. As darkness crept in, Dex began to feel overloaded by not only his, but his alter ego's frantic thoughts and impossible plans. The day had already dragged on due to everything rotten that had happened and the almond-eyed boy was still a bit light-headed from being drugged and from his earlier struggles. A nebbishy little twig of a boy weighing a mere ninety-three pounds can only take so much. Aching and with the overhead flourescents humming constantly like a tuneless lullaby, Dexter Douglas fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Like a faithful watchdog, Freakazoid guarded over his human's unconscious thoughts, biding his time until he could break free and do some damage to the person who did this.

Like clockwork, Clandestine looked over his or her shoulder and saw the boy, head now drooped back on the recliner, face frozen in an expression of worry, wisps of mouse-brown hair laying limp in his eyes. Clan couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow for him; he was only a child.

..._Only a child, Clan. You know what you're doing is sick, you know it isn't right! _A small voice in the back of Clandestine's mind spoke remorsefully. "I have to do this. It's the only way."

The little voice grew sterner. _You know that's not true. What happened to you, Clan? I know you're having doubts about this. You used to be like him, remember? You used to be innocent, too._

"Shut up!" Clandestine growled. "I stopped being innocent. I stopped being **you** and **you **know why! You also know why I have to do this!" Clan took a cool breath. "This is the only way."

The other voice said nothing. Clandestine gazed ruefully at the sleeping teen, frowning behind the horrible half-masks. Gingerly, Clan reclined the seat and placed Dex on his side, locating the pillow from before (dropped to the floor from the previous struggle and left forgotten) and placing it under his head. Gloved hands tucked the strands of hair behind his ear. The same pair of hands removed his glasses, placing them in his pocket and fetched him a blanket, old and dusty but intact, from one of the abandoned tenament's bedrooms.

"Goodnight, Dex," the villain said, voice barely audible, "I won't wake you. Not now."

Clandestine set back to work, fine-tuning the device that they would hate to use but needed to so very badly.

_**[A/N: I hope you guys like this chapter. It seems kind of filler-y to me, but I wanted to dig into both Dexter's and Clandestine's psyches a bit, and kind of establish Clan's personality. I tried to balance Freakazoid's protective side with his gooofy, random side, although the goofy side usually wins out. In the end, Freak wants to protect his boy. Related to that, Clandestine doesn't have an alter-ego like Dexter does. It's more like a very vocal conscience with a voice of its own. To put it simply; Clan hears a voice in his or her head. They are severely mentally unbalanced, but that's part of the backstory. For now, enjoy!-Kaylee]**_


End file.
